Page 94 of Waysider
It hadn’t been lonely, though. Cass’s mind flashed back to all those evenings with her roommates. Even now, she could smell pizza and hear obnoxious music coming from the television as the boys played one of their video games. Doors slamming, feet padding up and down the stairs. Dishes in the sink, books all over the table, shoes cluttering the floor. Cass thought of Finch’s smile, and Bradley’s blush, and Justin’s scowl. A smile curved her own lips as she pictured them.
Somewhere along the way, House Wayside had become home to her. And she’d started to care about the misfits who lived there.
Sinister shifted beside her, drawing Cass’s attention back to him. She studied his solemn profile as she thought about the events that had led to Sinister Gray sitting in that chair instead of Cal. Cass wondered if he’d used his mother’s connections to book a last-minute ticket on her flight and get the seat next to hers. But that wasn’t what Cass really wanted to ask him.
“Why did you come?” she asked abruptly, making sure he could see her mouth.
Sinister frowned. “Finch told me—”
Cass shook her head. “No, not to the hospital. Why did you come to Wayside? You said you stopped by the house, and that’s when Finch spilled her guts about where I was. Were you looking for me?”
To her surprise, Sinister didn’t answer. He turned his head and stared at the seat in front of him as if it were covered in writing. A lock of his brown hair fell forward, hiding half of his face. It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult question, Cass thought. She studied the tense line of his jaw and bit her tongue to stop herself from saying it out loud.
A full minute passed before Sinister finally spoke. His voice was flat, and he didn’t sign as he said, “I had a vision. I saw Patrick Doyle kill you.”
“A vision?” Cass repeated under her breath, her eyes darting around to make sure none of the other passengers were listening. Every person in sight was either sleeping or reading. A few rows ahead, a baby started crying.
Sinister nodded once. His hands remained in his lap and he still didn’t turn. “I can see the futures of the people around me. I can see my future, too.”
All at once, Cass remembered Professor Green’s lecture on the secondary abilities voyants could possess. Telepathy, telekinesis, transtemporal travel… and precognition. It’s rare for a voyant to possess any one of these abilities, much less more than one, but there are exceptions, the professor had said.
The next part replayed in Cass’s head, every syllable crystal clear, as if it had happened yesterday. Exceptions such as Nathanial Hissing and Sinister Gray.
Holy shit, she thought.
So Sinister Gray had visions, in addition to being a Shadowripper. No wonder he was so revered at school. It didn’t seem possible one person could hold so much power.
Something else occurred to her, and Cass’s gaze flew back to Sinister. “Is that why you went to the attic on the night of the scavenger hunt? You saw something in a vision?”
He nodded. “There wasn’t much to go on. There never is, really. I just got a glimpse of the chalk moving, and someone standing in front of it with the list of riddles. I wanted to know who the attic ghost had chosen.”
Another silence fell between them, and Cass wanted to ask the obvious question. Had Sinister seen her future? She felt an immediate rush of shame, and suddenly Cass could guess why he was acting so defensive. Sinister had probably been asked that by every person who found out what he could do. He wasn’t a fortune teller, and if he wanted her to know about something that might happen, he would tell her. He said he’d come as soon as he had the vision of Patrick Doyle.
Patrick Doyle. Cass had been careful not to think about him since they’d left the hospital, but now he slipped through the cracks like a beetle. It still hadn’t completely sunk in yet—demons were real. Cass had known they were, of course, but it was different reading about it versus actually seeing one. She remembered how his face had shifted and bubbled.
The fear came rushing back, and Cass’s fingers curled around the armrests. She started to wonder what she could’ve done differently in that room. She didn’t like that Patrick Doyle was still alive, or that he knew so much about her life. Cass had come all this way for answers, and now she was just leaving with more questions. But she did know one thing, at least.
As long as Patrick Doyle was breathing, no one was safe.
“I read something that said for every way a demon is made, there’s a way to unmake them,” Cass said abruptly.
Sinister’s gaze finally returned to her. He gave Cass an unreadable look. “Those books are in the forbidden section.”
Cass lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “So it’s true? Demons can be killed?”
“It’s true.”
“So that means there are two ways to take out Patrick Doyle.” Cass’s voice was a thoughtful murmur. She leaned back against the headrest, already forming a new plan. Judging by Sinister’s clipped response, he obviously didn’t want to give her any more information, but Cass had already proven she could get the books she needed. She would just continue her research on her own.
“Three,” Sinister said.
Cass’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”
He reached forward and pulled a magazine out of the pocket in front of him. His dark eyes darted toward her. “You said there are two ways a demon can form, but there are three,” he clarified.
“Dark energy and evil deeds.” Cass ticked them off on her fingers. She shook her head. “What is the other one?”
One of the flight attendants walked past, and Sinister waited until she was gone to answer. “For some revenants,” he said quietly, “being on the other side is like dying all over again. It changes them. They begin to lose pieces of who they were.”
